


I have come to lead you to the other shore

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe – Ghost, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Rated T for Teeth, aka I'm mixing and matching as I please, author has no idea what horror is because they're a big fucking weenie, but from the pov of not the vampire, ghosts show up at the end i promise, heavy handed 'artistic liberty' when it comes to actual vampire lore, no I don't take criticism about it, not like unattached body horror teeth, pls do not look too closely because the author sure goddamn didn't, this is set in a very vague like 50-60s esque world, undead characters, vampire teeth, vampire thralldom in essence, very very mild implied dubcon, yes I've decided to summarily ignore most of it, yes I've done my research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: "Fact 1: Aziraphale is sleepwalking.Fact 2: Aziraphale doesn't know where she's sleepwalking to.Fact 3: Ghosts and vampires are never only about ghosts and vampires." - Thomas C Foster"How do you know my name?" Aziraphale asked, and the dread that had built in her stomach before when she first saw the woman had faded away throughout dinner and as they spoke, but now it came back in full force, draining her face and turning her pale as it pooled in her stomach, feeling for all the world as if it would tip out and fall through the floor."That," Crowley spoke slowly and deliberately, as if she were imparting great wisdom and wanted to be sure Aziraphale knew of it. "Is because I know the name of all the angels who visit my dreams."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 13





	I have come to lead you to the other shore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [LegendaryIneffables](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LegendaryIneffables) collection. 
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [LegendaryIneffables](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LegendaryIneffables) collection. 



> First of two parts for my Halloween Legendary Ineffables fill! 
> 
> I'm vaguely sorry for the fact this is wholly unbetaed but not sorry enough not to post way too late on Halloween night so here we are. 
> 
> (Title from “Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.” — Dante Alighieri)
> 
> Prompts for more detail at the end.

Aziraphale woke up.

Suddenly and in the wrong place, hand outstretched to the knob of a door. It was the middle of the night and the stars were bright and Aziraphale was barefoot in the middle of nowhere. Every night for the past year she'd been walking somewhere in her sleep, getting further and further until… what? She didn't know and it had been scaring her.

It started with waking up immediately the moment she threw off the covers and stood, and then as the nights grew shorter and warmer she'd gotten further; all the way down the road and then turned off into the woods through a broken fence, and now here. She'd started wearing a compass as a necklace when she went to bed and a thick robe and slippers, though those didn't always stay on.

Aziraphale sighed and scrubbed at her face, trying desperately not to cry, she'd never ever _seen_ this house before, which means she'd walked _much_ further during the night than she ever had before.

The moon and the stars still shone bright and the morning was nowhere to be seen, so Aziraphale stepped up to the porch of this old house in the woods and tried not to shiver too terribly in dread. The moment she laid a foot on the top stair, there were only four, the front door creaked and fell open. Aziraphale whimpered and shoved a hand over her mouth to muffle herself.

All she needed was some light, the thought circled in her head like Charybdis' breath, or perhaps a cenote, sinking down like limestone to reveal murky, brackish waters incapable of mixing. Some light, that's all she needed, she was certain she couldn't read her compass without some light. Any light would do, except for the moon, it was full but too dim.

All she needed was some light, to read her compass by. Some light, anything; a fire or a torch or a naked bulb, anything at all.

Aziraphale crept into the house, it was eerie and lifeless and felt like a crypt instead. Every open doorway was the entrance to a sepulcher. There were no spiders, no scurrying creatures, nothing that might move or make a sound, nothing that lived in the entire place.

But then, she entered the back of the house, where perhaps bedrooms might have been in a normal one, but instead there was a massive, sprawling space filled with plants and greenery. Some of which bloomed under the full moon and nearly seemed to glow with a light of their own, and some which did not bloom at all, and others still which were closed to the night and sunken in on themselves. Aziraphale gasped softly at the moonflowers, beautiful and delicate, and was entirely possessed by the urge to use their light.

Anything, any light at all, her hope, her salvation; the cenote was drained, the whirlpool sailed past! Without any thought to anything else in the room, Aziraphale ran over to a small cluster of lily-like flowers that glowed the most and carried a heady fragrance and pulled the compass necklace from her neck. In her haste, she didn't notice the small splinter that stuck into the side of her heel, and the single drop of blood that fell from it.

Pulling the compass necklace from beneath her robe and nightgown and tilted a moonflower from its twisty vine to shine its light on the compass hung around her neck. There was just barely enough glow to reveal the black markings on the pale background, but the face of it spun wildly, back and forth, like it couldn't decide which was way north…

The plants behind her shifted silently and Aziraphale's stomach clenched and made an impolite sound, and suddenly she found herself to be starving—as if she hadn't eaten for days on end. How odd, she'd even eaten a bit later than usual last she remembered, gotten home from her shift at the hospital after a harrowing uptick in the A&E intake hours after she was supposed to have left for the day. Ate whatever leftover take-out she'd scrounged up from her fridge, and then wrapped herself up and fell asleep far quicker than normal.

"Are you hungry?" A soft, throaty voice asked behind her, too close, too sudden, and Aziraphale screamed in response. Clutching at her chest, compass in hand, she whirled around to put her back to the plant-encrusted wall, moonflowers glowing and lighting the room just enough for her to see by.

There was a woman, dour-looking and dressed in all black, looking as if she were ready to step out and go to a funeral. Or, perhaps, she was a widow in mourning with that lacy veil. Her features were difficult to pick out in the dark, the black shawl around her shoulders hid her form well and the veil obstructed Aziraphale's view of the woman's face. But her voice was nearly hypnotic, no matter how little she'd spoken, and even though there was something… off about everything, Aziraphale couldn't figure out _why_.

The mantra of just a little light to read her compass by fell away from her thoughts, and Aziraphale stood up straight, retying her robe for something to do with her hands. Though she couldn't see the woman's eyes, it felt like she was being watched intently.

"I– uh, I'm Aziraphale!" She forced from her mouth, feeling off-kilter and wrong-footed even as she stuck her hand out to shake. "Sorry!" Aziraphale wasn't very sure what she was apologizing about, maybe for disturbing the woman, for entering the house unannounced, her nerves, anything really.

"Hullo, Aziraphale." The woman greeted, stepping closer—more like gliding, Aziraphale thought to herself, like that Russian dance with all those very little steps so it looked like floating—and took her hand. The woman didn't shake it like Aziraphale had thought, and instead bowed over her hand and pressed an ice-cold kiss to her knuckles. She shivered and stood up straighter.

"I am Crowley," The woman said gently, letting go of her hand and standing up slowly, as if reluctantly. "And there is nothing for you to apologize for…"

"Good– good evening then, Crowley!" Aziraphale squeaked, her stomach betrayed her again.

"I ask a second time, Aziraphale," Crowley intoned, and Aziraphale nearly felt dizzy with whatever it was hidden in her words, "Are you hungry?"

Dread pooled in her stomach and nearly overtook the hunger, and somehow she _knew_ she shouldn't say yes, that she should just walk away; return home and chain herself to her room at night somehow so she'd never return, but…

But she'd never been very good at doing what she _should_ , not when there was a mystery at hand.

"Yes." Aziraphale replied, and Crowley reached out with one of her hands, perfect and soft and manicured and it took everything in Aziraphale to simply place her hand gently in Crowley's rather than throw herself at the woman and embrace her. Aziraphale wasn't reached out to, not really, not so kindly. She was kept to herself and she tried to be sociable but it never quite agreed with her, so all the other nurses never much seemed to like her when she couldn't add anything to the gossip or tense when she was touched.

The dining room was immense, much larger than this little house ought to be able to hold, and in far better condition than the rest. It was pristine and the wainscotting was a beautiful dark red wood with gilt molding where the wood turned to bright green paper in repeating images of flying things and flowers whenever she looked at them directly. Aziraphale hadn't thought to look at them indirectly.

There were two settings laid out on the table already, the head and the right-hand seat. Aziraphale blushed a little at that, but said nothing except a quiet _thank you_ when Crowley pulled out the chair for Aziraphale and pushed her in. The soup before her looked hearty and thick and the steam wafting up from it smelled amazing in ways Aziraphale didn't know food could smell, no matter if she'd liked it well enough before. But now?

Crowley sat and poured herself a glass of rich, red wine from a carafe which she stoppered with a thick cork once she was done. Even through the veil, Aziraphale could feel Crowley's gaze on her face and watching her intently, even as she swirled the glass underneath her nose.

"Please, eat what I have provided for you." Crowley said, a certain firmness behind her encouragement, and Aziraphale obeyed.

Their meal was quiet, Aziraphale busied herself with eating and enjoying the finest soup she'd ever had, the flavors beyond anything she could have dreamed, layered and complex and every spoonful that reached her tongue coated her mouth with the richness of the thick broth. The vegetables were vessels of flavor and the meat melted under the slightest pressure of her teeth. She ate uncaring of manners, except that she would be loath to spill any.

"Do you like it?" Crowley asked, as Aziraphale finished, and she sounded as if she might have run desperately across a field, winded and her throat tight with… _something._

Aziraphale's cheeks filled once more with a blush and she gripped her fingers in her lap. "Yes, I did. Thank you."

"I am… heartened to see you so well-pleased." Crowley said. Aziraphale could barely hear for the rush of blood in her face and she was only proud to know that she did not squeak aloud at the familiarity of Crowley's words.

"I– yes. Thank you, my dear…" Aziraphale began, "But I must ask, have you already eaten? For you have only had wine and no food. I am so very sorry for putting you out like this, if you have only kept me company and had no need yourself, though the food was lovely!"

Crowley only smiled and the veil did not obscure it as it ought to, the lace seemed thinner than it had been before. Aziraphale thought to herself that it must be the light which caught the glimmer of teeth and painted red lips.

"I do not drink wine, Aziraphale." Crowley said simply, and Aziraphale waited. "It was a… restorative. And the reason I did not offer you any, I fear I would be a poor host if I did not offer you wine were there any."

Aziraphale found herself nodded, "Yes, I suppose that makes sense… But I do have one more question, if you do not find it rude."

"Ask it of me."

"How do you know my name?" Aziraphale asked, and the dread that had built in her stomach before when she first saw the woman had faded away throughout dinner and as they spoke, but now it came back in full force, draining her face and turning her pale as it pooled in her stomach, feeling for all the world as if it would tip out and fall through the floor.

"That," Crowley spoke slowly and deliberately, as if she were imparting great wisdom and wanted to be sure Aziraphale knew of it. "Is because I know the name of all the angels who visit my dreams."

Aziraphale sucked in a sharp breath and there was a twinge in the back of her head that blared klaxons of _danger-danger-danger_ but she forced herself still and to smile. "Oh, you flatter me, I am no angel! And I don't believe I've been here before…"

Crowley only shrugged and stood. "I must give you my apology, Ms Fell, but day is soon to break and I find myself very tired. My restorative often puts me into a deep sleep, so I must retire for the day. Will you find yourself home?"

Aziraphale stood quickly, nearly tripping over the chair which was much heavier than she would have thought, seeing Crowley move it so easily before. "Yes, yes! Of course, I am sorry for imposing, Cro– Ms Crowley!"

Aziraphale saw the horizon lighten as Crowley walked deeper into the small house which ought not have so much deeper to go, and was lost to her gaze after only a single turn at the end of a long hallway. Aziraphale left through the door she came in through, retracing her steps through the house to the front door, and the stairs beneath her feet creaked as if to say goodbye. Or, perhaps, to beckon her in once more.

* * *

Every night, the same as before, Aziraphale woke after walking some miles in her sleep, with her sturdy slippers on her feet and robe wrapped tightly around her and upon the creaking front steps of Crowley's home. Crowley never answered the door, and Aziraphale fretted each night about entering unannounced after knocking, she could never bring herself to simply leave and return home.

Each night she found Crowley amongst the night-blooming flowers and every time, Crowley invited her to eat dinner. It never occurred to Aziraphale to turn her down or to simply say hello and leave before Crowley dismissed her. She dined on feasts with Crowley to her left at the head of the table, each time lost in the rapture of the food and flavors she'd never experienced before, or if she had never in such intensity. She could feel Crowley watching her, carefully and though she could not see her eyes from underneath the veil, Aziraphale knew Crowley did not blink.

And every night, Aziraphale would ask how Crowley knew her name. Each time Crowley said she knew the names of all the angels in her dreams or among the stars or, once, that she allowed into her home.

But tonight, the sixth night she had dined with Crowley, Aziraphale asked another question as Crowley stood, ready to dismiss her for the morning. "Are you well?"

"It is nearly morning and– am I what?" Crowley tripped over her words and Aziraphale got the impression she had shocked the woman in black.

"Are you well?" Aziraphale repeated, standing and stepping closer than she had ever dared to before, so much that she could nearly make out the sharpness of Crowley's nose and the firmness of her jaw. She was, entirely, a handsome woman, Aziraphale thought to herself.

"Am I well?"

"Yes. You have grown paler, I think." It was hard to tell with the veil, but her hands had even lost color, "You seem to be cold so often and you are much less… vibrant, though I do not mean it as an insult you must know! I simply wish to ask about your health. You have… become dear to me, I think."

"You think?" Crowley drawled and Aziraphale could nearly hear the smirk she surely spoke through, "You do not know if I am dear to you? Perhaps that is for the best, those who would think of me as dear… do not often live whole and hale lives, angel."

Aziraphale startled at the name and jerked back, but Crowley did not follow her, nor did she make any indication of having said anything out of the ordinary.

"Angel?" Aziraphale gasped. Crowley nodded and turned her head towards the window, it was the lightest Aziraphale had ever seen the sky from inside the house, and Crowley crossed to it, closing thick curtains over the window and leaving them only in trembling candle-light as if electricity wasn't in common use.

"Yes." Crowley said simply.

Aziraphale leaves again, and does not say anything more about Crowley's health, though she knows it is in decline and, once, had to pull her chair out herself after letting Crowley hold onto her arm for support to the dining room.

Tonight, the eleventh night, Aziraphale did not find Crowley in the room with the plants, and she waited there for Crowley for nearly an hour before deciding to find the woman herself. She nervously took a candle in its decorative, brass holder, and turned to the dining room. It is set up and there are two place settings as usual, there is even food in place for Aziraphale and Crowley's _restorative_ , which sits smooth and a dark, deep red in a way Aziraphale didn't even know sherry could be before meeting Crowley.

Instead of stopping there, though, Aziraphale pressed on into the house, which wound and twisted and all the steps creaked loudly to her ears, but she could not imagine a single time when Crowley made any noise at all in this house when she walked these very halls as she retired to her rooms for the day.

To the end of the hall, and right, just as Crowley did. The walls were lined with mirrors, cobwebs long abandoned ornamented their frames and she could only see faint movement of her form and the flickering of the candle when she moved too quickly through the layer of grime. She thought the etchings in the frames of the mirrors may have been beautiful, once, before they were filled in and caked with dust. Perhaps they were gilt, or in bright colors, perhaps they shone brightly in the sun that would never reach these windowless, enclosed, too-long hallways.

The air was still and dead, and it felt like walking through a crypt, endless eyes creeping up her back and prickling at her skin underneath her robe to watch her in the dark. Only the light would keep them away, she was sure, but her back had no such protection. Aziraphale kept her breathing light and short, straining her ears over the beating of her own heart, as loud and rapid as gunfire, and she walked as quickly as she dared and absolutely didn't think at all about how these hallways would never end and if she turned around and left, there would be no end there either.

Aziraphale turned corners at the end of the hallway, there was only ever one way to go, and it may have felt like a garden maze if there were any other options offered, but no, there was only one choice, or two she supposed, if she were willing to go back and sit and eat alone in someone else's home.

And there! A window! Aziraphale rushed forward and nearly let her candle blow out, it had for half a second before the ember sparked the smoke enough to catch once more, and Aziraphale's stomach was heavy with dread and fear at the thought of losing her only source of light in the dark corridors of this twisting house. The moon was out, a crescent like a mad grin in the sky and two perfectly placed stars to shine like eyes far away and _watching_. But there was light, other than her little candle, for all that it was pale and withdrawn, and that was certainly not nothing.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale called, her voice surprisingly hoarse for having not spoken for hours, her breathing had turned her throat raw and ragged even as she fought to keep herself in check and Not Scared.

A door opened where there hadn't been one before, Aziraphale was sure. She didn't know how it had gotten there, only that she felt foolish for not asking after Crowley sooner, perhaps the hallways wouldn't have needed to be so long and her watchers so cruel if she had. Aziraphale crept forward, holding her breath until her lungs felt they would burst in her chest at every creak and groan like the crack of lightning until she crossed the threshold of the door into the room and just… breathed.

She was calm, there were no watching eyes, there was nothing wrong, it was alright. Crowley was here, she could _feel it_ in her bones, even before she spotted her laying in the bed.

The woman was beneath the covers and wore no veil nor hat nor anything to hide her face from Aziraphale's view, and she could not help the soft gasp at the sight of the woman before her. Even though she was pillowed in soft duvet, and propped up to recline on a small mountain of pillows, Aziraphale could tell the woman was handsome indeed. Sharply angled in the face with cheeks high and firm, her jaw looked to be carved as a marble sculpture and her neck a pale column leading gracefully into delicate shoulders Aziraphale couldn't help but think of as… delicate in a way that wouldn't normally apply to Crowley in her head.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked again.

"Angel?" Crowley rasped, barely more than a whisper and Aziraphale had to strain to hear it.

"Yes, I'm here, I'm sorry for intruding I just–"

"No, it is fine, I do not… I do not mind it." Crowley soothed and her eyes were shut all the while, even as she spoke to Aziraphale and turned her head to face her as if she was looking anyway.

"Are you… oh are you alright?" Aziraphale blurted, stepping forward, suddenly feeling utterly safe and at home with Crowley here.

"I… I have no more of my restorative, unfortunately." Crowley said carefully.

"I saw some in the dining room?" Aziraphale hedged, "Would you like me to fetch it for you?"

"No, no." A grimace passed over Crowley's face and she collapsed back on the pillows in a way Aziraphale hadn't thought possible, she'd thought Crowley was already laying on them, but she sunk into them until they nearly obscured her shoulders entirely and fluffed up around the sides of her head.

"What is left,"Crowley whispered hoarsely, "Is stale. It no longer works, and it is all I have."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale couldn't help how her hand reached out and she gently cradled Crowley's where it lay on the bed, a comforting touch between friends, and no matter that Crowley's hand felt as cold as the grave, Aziraphale felt like this was _right_ and she was meant to do this, made for it, to comfort Crowley and offer her anything she needed.

"Oh I'm so sorry, Crowley. I–" Aziraphale perked up just a little, "I'm a nurse! Do you think I could help at all? Could I get you anything? I can't prescribe anything necessarily, but I would be more than happy to help you to an appointment with a doctor!"

"No, angel," Crowley said with an odd tenor behind her voice that made Aziraphale's questions dry up in her mouth, caging them behind her teeth. "There isn't anything to be done about it. I– I do not think you will come here again."

"Crowley, of course I will you're… a very dear friend of mine, I think, by now. Even if there was nothing to be done, I would want to help anyway, however I can!"

"Thank you, angel… Remind me of that tomorrow. But I think, for now, I should sleep. If you like, there is dinner waiting for you."

And when Aziraphale left, the dining room was only a single left turn away, down perfectly normal hallway lengths, and the coque a vin was still gently steaming and perfect as always, with just enough red wine to warm her belly.

* * *

Every night Aziraphale had gone to sleep and woke up at Crowley's home, for the last twelve nights. Except for this one.

This time, Aziraphale woke in her bed as the sunlight streamed through her window, and she got up groggily, having slept deeper than she remembers having ever one before, and certainly not within the last year. It doesn't make sense, why would it stop? Was Crowley sick enough it was affecting _Aziraphale_?

Aziraphale worried and fretted all the day through her work shift, and she avoided the other nurses as well as she could, unwilling to become a new rumor with how she couldn't seem to stop her hands from shaking and felt tired and drained of energy no matter how well she'd slept the night before.

Spurred by her worry, Aziraphale didn't bother to dress for bed, and set her alarm for midnight so she could not oversleep again if she didn't wake at Crowley's.

Two nights, Aziraphale did not sleepwalk. The second night, she set out fully awake and retraced her steps back across the small creek and through the fencing, and over a short, but steep hill. And she did not find Crowley's home.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts filled in this fic:  
> – The blood of a corpse is poison to vampires. So what happens if a person who does not know they are dead is lured in by a vampire?
> 
> – Vampires can lure prey with just the sound of their voice.


End file.
